Starting in Wager, ending in Victory
by The Musical CC
Summary: In any universe, in any circumnstance, there is only one thing you can be sure of...they love each other. A compilation of my written entries for Gravepainters Month (06.06.15 to 26.06.15)
1. Day 1

Day 1

 **Mondragon-Joaquin's Role Swap!AU (Manolo is La Muerte. Joaquin is Xibalba and María is the Candlemaker. The gods are mortal children)**

 **WAGER**

* * *

Really, it was just lucky that none of them knew about the wager while growing up.

Because, what would have Chandler said, had he known a God was rooting for him to get together with Catrina when they grew up? Maybe that he'd made the right call, since a relationship between them didn't seem to far-fetched; they got along well, he admired her for her spirited behavior, her kindness, her courage and strength. Even if he did find her to be rather explosive. If anything, he would have been comforted by the thought that even the higher ups of the universe plotted for him to get his dream girl

Catrina would have probably questioned to herself whether a God's life was really so monotonous that they had to make wagers on little kids's love lives to avoid dying of boredom…and whether Gods could actually die of boredom. She would just come up with so many questions on it. Of course, she learned all about the wager later on, and not on the best way possible, but even then she had to wonder if even Gods were too blind to see or she was just _that_ good at hiding her heart.

( _Maria did see it, though. Out of the three deities, she was probably the only one patient enough to truly pay attention to what was happening with those kids they'd hand-picked for their little game. Not that Manolo didn't care, but with a kingdom as lively as his it was hard to keep his mind on the board, hence why it was so easy for Joaquin to cheat_ )

And of course, Xibalba would have been furious.

Not that he cared about Catrina, of course not, it wouldn't have been a matter of jealousy. It would have been a matter of pride. Who did these Gods think they were, making bets involving his friends? Were human lives really that insignificant to them? Were their feelings and souls just a joke to them?

…more importantly, why had no one wagered in his favor?

Still, they eventually found out, once everything was said and done and Chakal dead. Chandler shrugged, swallowing a comment on how even Gods make mistakes sometimes, Catrina (Having been previously informed of it) whispered something about ' _Short-sighted idiots_ ' and Xibalba sulked about it. Years later, he mentioned it, while he and Catrina where both wrapped in a thick comforter in front of the fire, the thunderstorm raging outside.

"No one believed in me, you know? That I could win your heart" he sighed, head sinking the slightest between his hunched shoulders "I suppose I can't really blame them for it. I don't deserve you"

Catrina snuggled closer to him to kiss his shoulder.

"And yet, here I am"

* * *

 **C.C (a) The Author here.**

 **Gravepainters month finished yesterday. Just thought I'd put together my written entries for it so they're easy to find.**

 **Aaaaanyway, someone as arrogant as Xibalba would sure as frick be offended he wasn't anyone's favorite. Except he IS someone's favorite, huehuehue.**


	2. Day 2

Day 2

 **Canon!verse**

 **ANGER**

* * *

She has never been frightened of him. Even when she didn't know him yet and all she saw in him was an invader deity trying to occupy the rightful places of the ancestral Gods like her and her sister, the most he managed was to annoy her. She trusts her own strength more than anything in the world, as any Goddess should, and that was probably the reason for it.

But right now, even through the dulling emptiness of her grief, La Muerte's scared.

"Move" her husband snarls at her, wings open menacingly, eyes pinned on her, narrow and furious, candle-flames burning high and bright.

"I won't let you do this" she mutters, rooting herself more firmly between him and the entrance to the Cave of Souls. He eyes behind her, fingers moving impatiently; he could always try and teleport past her, but both know she's as fast as him and it would do no good, so he hunches his shoulders and stretches himself as much as possible, trying to intimidate her.

"Move!" Xibalba repeats, voice louder. She squares her shoulders, but otherwise remains the same "Don't you understand! It's our daughter I want to save! _Get out of my way_!"

Despite the sinking, cold feeling in her stomach at the thought of her little girl, her precious Sartana cast into the world of the mortals, alone and in her state, she doesn't shift.

"There is nothing we can do" her voice cracks around the last word, so she swallows before continuing "We can't save her"

"I will die trying if I must!" he barks.

Her blood runs cold at the sole thought. And her mouth quivers a bit before she can utter her next sentence:

"Then you'll have to go through me"

Glowing eyes widen in disbelief, pained and confused.

"Is she that unimportant to you?!" he demands in a hiss "You know why she did it! What that dirty, disgusting human did to her! And you still side with them?"

"You cannot punish the entire human kind for the actions of just one of them" La Muerte recites. She's been telling herself the same thing for what seems like years because she believes it, from the bottom of her heart, that humans are pure and kind, but at the same time she wonders what kind of a monster would hurt and use Sartana the way Jorge Rivera did. And why they should be allowed to live in peace after doing it while her daughter _is_ going to take punishment. She loves humans wholeheartedly, she always will, but there's an aftertaste of bitterness in that love now, all because one human decided to break her little girl's heart.

"I also know the balance between worlds is the one reason we Gods exist, Xibalba, and Sartana put that balance on the line" she continues, her tone almost monotonous, as tough she can't fully believe what she's saying herself "She could have destroyed us all, and all for petty revenge"

"She had every right to avenge herself!" Xibalba bellows.

"Gods can't permit that kind of a right" La Muerte tiredly continues. Suddenly, she can feel every year that hangs on her body clearly, is this how humans feel when their life approaches its end? Is she dying? Or is it just grief, pure grief, one of the few things that can kill her kind? "We have the power, and thus we should know better"

He shakes his head angrily, as if to say nothing she can say will truly reach him.

"I have no time for this!" his wings are open and ready to flap again "Out of my way, La Muerte. _Now_ "

She flinches slightly. To him she has always been ' _Mi amor_ ', 'My dear', ' _Muertita_ ' and other sweet names. It's only in crucial moments that he ever calls her by her name and she has never heard it in his voice in such a harsh, cold tone. Perhaps he's noticed it, because his features soften the slightest, his eyes pleading.

"Don't make me do this" he heaves out. Oh, she knows how he feels, she's been feeling like this for the past few minutes, scared to death, and not of what he might do to her, but of what the cost will be for him and where that would leave them, because having diametrically different outlooks on life has more often than not brought them together rather than torn them apart but this is one gap they can't simply overlook; one of them must cross to the opposite side or they can never be together again.

But La Muerte has made her mind that she will not falter. Hard and painful as this knowledge is, she still knows Sartana brought this punishment upon herself and it's only fair that she faces the consequences of her acts -she doesn't dwell on the thought because it's almost unbearable. She feels as though her very insides are being torn apart and she would rather have that happen, have her own heart carved out of her body rather than see her daughter cast out, but what can she do? The road Sartana has taken is one that spirals down, down into nothingness and destruction and the only way to stop that from happening is stripping her of her godly powers for her safety as well as the safety of all others. She tells herself this and still isn't quite enough to overcome the paralyzing agony of knowing she will be forever separated from her and that this struggle for Xibalba's life is stealing her what could well be the last moments between her and both her parents.

Letting Xibalba face the Court would make him a criminal once again, and if they spared his life -just barely- once already, they will not be as merciful one second time. She can't lose him, she can't lose both her child and husband on the same day.

She would rather die.

Taking advantage of the pause, Xibalba springs forward, trying to zigzag his way past her, but she's just as fast as him, and he collides with her, trying to shove her away. She grabs him by both wrists and wrestles him onto the ground, straddling him for a moment before rushing away, still between him and the entrance.

"I will throw you back as many times as needed" she warns, feeling as though in the midst of a nightmare where she can do nothing but watch as someone who looks and sounds and acts like herself does this to Xibalba. He rolls to his knees, incorporating slowly.

"I don't want to do this" he growls, eyes narrowed dangerously "But I will if I have to"

Under his gaze, she spreads her arms out, almost invitingly, a sad smile playing in her lips. Her eyes are damp (Damn it, they have been damp since heaven knows when, since this whole matter started) but the tears never quite make their way down her face.

"Do what you must, my love"

She's barely finished saying it when he's upon her, looking at her with rage-filled eyes glowing dangerously. Her breath hitches in her throat, eyes widening in fright. Time seems to slow down. On the back of her mind, she's hoping Candlemaker has already sent Sartana off so she doesn't have to learn this happened, but before she knows it, and before he's even laid a finger on her, Xibalba collapses, hunching, shrinking, and falls on his knees before her, defeated, quivering as if in the middle of a fever, covering his eyes with one hand.

"I _CAN'T!_ " he roars out and thrusts his other fist into the rocky ground. He does it again and again, and the rocks crack, but he doesn't seem content and keeps hitting until he exhausts himself and has to stop, his glove seeping with black blood that has long since stained the rock, his chest heaving "…I can't…I would never…I would sooner die than hurt you"

Something cracks within her at the words, with the knowledge that she's forced him to chose and that he'll never forgive her for it, but she has little time to dwell on it before a voice, also teary and cracked calls at her back.

"It's d-d-d-one"

Both of them turn to find the Candlemaker making his way slowly to them, huge tears streaming from his eyes, head cast down, his body shaken by violent sobs. La Muerte feels as if engulfed by a wave of gray, joyless fog that all but cuts her breath, and she doesn't even know she's stumbling until her back touches something and she leans on it to stop the fall. Her first coherent thought is for Xibalba, but he's gotten to his feet again, and is turning his back on both of them, his hands behind his back. The distance between them seems much larger than it actually is and she's unable to breach it.

"She s-s-said we shouldn't worry too much about her" the Candlemaker continues, hiccuping "That she can take c-care of herself…and she'll be fine"

Oh, Gods, mercy. Whatever she'd done, whatever she'd become, her little girl had still been within that cold-hearted, vindictive creature, and her last thoughts in her banishment had been for them. She feels herself bend, all but collapses into the wall, tears streaming form her eyes and she's weeping like she hasn't since her mother passed.

"And sh-she said…" he sniffles loudly "She asked m-m-me to tell y-you guys…that i-it wasn't your fault, neither of you…"

The constant _plop!_ of the blood dripping from Xibalba's injured hand is the only sound coming from him. He doesn't even dignify them with a glance, it's like he's become stone where he stands.

"And t-that…that she doesn't w-want you guys to f-f-fight because of her"

She's breathless, hugging herself as if to prevent herself from falling apart. She's hurting for her daughter, but also for her lover. Why doesn't he say anything? Why does he keep away? She did what she thought she had to with full conscience that it might cost her dearly, but this absence of an immediate consequence, this silence that stretches is almost more than she can bear.

"Xibalba–" she strangles out.

"It is done" he cuts her, not turning to look at her. His voice is all steel and cold "As you wanted…now let me be"

Oh, it shakes her. Just when she thought she couldn't possibly be in more pain and for a brief moment she wonders whether she has already died because her limbs have grown cold and her heart sinks, almost unable to beat. She doesn't even realize that she's going to him until Candlemaker calls her hesitantly and her hand is touching Xibalba's wings. The contact has him turning to her almost as if to pounce her, mouth open in a pointy-toothed grimace, candles burning like a small inferno.

" _Don't touch me_!"

Something snaps within her as she retrieves her hand and it's as though everything within her is swept away, replaced by utter shock and sorrow that crushes any coherent thought, and she must have stumbled back because suddenly the Candlemaker has to support her to stop her from falling, but she doesn't care. Xibalba's eyes, so cold and angry and _unloving_ glower at her for a moment before she all but rushes to him, guessing what he's about to do as he twirls into a splotch of black ink to slip between her fingers, ignoring her howl of his name and getting lost between the swirl of colors that is the sky of the Land of the Remembered.

It's like the very earth beneath her has collapsed as she sinks to her knees, sobbing her heart out, crushed by the knowledge that the person she loves the most in this world hates her.

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **Sometime ago, I had the brilliant idea of trying to picture the effect Sartana's banishmentin their marriage. OUCH**


	3. Day 4

Day 4

 **Canon!Verse**

 **THROUGH THE FIRE**

* * *

The silence was broken by the dry sound of the cell door opening and Xibalba awakened, blinking madly at the rush of golden, warm light intruding in his pitch-black cell. He had to close his eyes for a moment and face away, struggling against the chains that hung him to the wall, until a well-known hand tenderly cupped the side of his face and he knew who it was, leaning into the touch. The door closed.

" _Mi amor…_ " he muttered, his voice feeling hoarse and strange with neglect, eyes half-lidded to be able to withstand the light after days of complete darkness. La Muerte shushed him softly, running both hands over his face, brushing lose strands of hair from it here and there to be able to look at him properly, and he drank in the touch. By the time he was able to open his eyes, she was cupping both sides of his head, brow furrowed.

"Are you an idiot or just plain mad?" she mutters tiredly to his face, shaking him with every word "I've been looking for you all over for the past days!"

"Hm" he chuckled "I'm touched"

"Only until now, I hear you're here!" her voice quivered a bit at the last word and she had to pause for a moment, her eyes drifting to the places where the cuffs had already cut into his skin "…why are you chained? They don't usually hang prisoners to the wall"

"I had to…shake things up a bit to make it believable. They eventually figured having me here would be better"

La Muerte stared at him in disbelief and released his face to walk around the cell, pinching the bridge of her nose, muttering curses that he couldn't help but be curious as to where she had even learned them.

"Who told you?" he almost casually asked, shifting against the wall with his wings. Being hanged by the wrists was proving to be the most uncomfortable position he'd ever been "That I was here"

"Who do you think?" she replied, still pacing, taking deep breaths as if to ease herself "My sister just learned it this morning…and of course, she could hardly wait to tell me"

"You do realize you're doing exactly what she expects you to, don't you?"

"What do I care?!" she hissed, rushing back to him "Why would you even think I'd let you do this?!"

Xibalba leaned forward, ignoring how the metal dug into his already sore skin and how she tried to keep him in place.

"Because you have no choice. There is nothing you can do"

"I can confess"

"I'd say you already have" he retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. She froze, eyes widening- ah, he'd hit the nail in the head "Oh, but they didn't believe you, did they? They thought you were trying to save me by telling an absurd lie–"

"You knew this would happen!" she realized, fists closing in frustration "You counted on them not believing me!"

Xibalba managed an apologetic smile despite the fact that inside he was swelling with pride over the brilliancy of his plan. It wasn't often that he caught her so completely off-guard.

"Blame them not for it, _mi amor_. Who would believe the real culprit is someone as gentle as you when someone like me has already confessed?"

"Don't do this!" she whispered, all other resources gone, hands grasping his face fiercely again, tearful eyes in front of his "Please! _Por lo que mas quieras–_ "

"What I love the most is you*" he cut her. Her eyes opened wide and tears finally rolled down from them. How he wished he could brush them away "And it is exactly why I must do this"

A loud rapping at the door, made them both turn towards it. A guard walked in, clicked his heels and told them the time was up. La Muerte's hands traveled to the back of his head as she turned to him again and pressed their foreheads together, her breath coming out in ragged sobs, eyes closed, calling his name fervently. He closed his eyes as well, muttering reassuring lies, both to her and himself. It would be fine, he would be fine…those had to be the less convincing lies he'd ever said, and yet he repeated them over and over for her to hear, or maybe just to drown out the urgent calls of the guard telling them to separate. Soon enough, he was gently coaxing her away form the prisoner, perhaps ignorant to the fact that the only reason he was able to do so was that she was feeling too weak to fight.

But right at the door, she turned back, eyes aglow, her face lit with determination.

"If you can make it through the fire trial" she declared, her voice steady "I will marry you"

Xibalba's heart skipped a beat and then resumed it's beating at full speed as he gaped at her. Even the guard had forgotten his hurry in surprise, looking at both of them alternatively, but he didn't seem to understand why suddenly La Muerte was struggling out a smile and Xibalba was smirking back. He would have had to see them wager before to recognize those looks.

"Then I will" he said hoarsely.

* * *

 _ **((Por lo que mas quieras = Means something along the lines of 'For God's sake' BUT literally means 'For what you love the most'. Hence Xibalba's reply))**_

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **For this one, I worked with the assumption that Xibalba's punishment wasn't really meant to be a death sentence, more like a trial. Think a Roman Colliseum or something like that, only involving FIRE. Hence why he (And El Chamuco too) were allowed to live after surviving it.**


	4. Day 7

Day 7

 **Canon!Verse**

 **WAR AND PEACE**

* * *

Complicated. It's what Candlemaker called them, complicated.

But Xibalba disagrees. Granted, his marriage with La Muerte _is_ very complicated, but he thinks it goes beyond those words that can be applied to most human relationships.

When he tried to put in into words (And struggling with that is something he's completely unused to) what first came to him was one word all too familiar to him: War.

Oh, he knows what he's talking about. He lived the first half of his live among it, after all. Dark beings, demons and supernatural creatures were all too common back then, much more than they are now and he battled them everyday for the sake of humans, beings he didn't quite understand or particularly like. His brother would often tell him back then that he needn't understand, all that was required of him was to obey, and that answer sufficed for most of his life, drunk as he was on the glory, on the rush of battle that never left his blood for long. He enjoyed it, truthfully, and that was why he never questioned it.

Until he met La Muerte.

Ah, it was refreshing for many reasons, the main ones being he discovered his brother was a hypocrite (Whatever happened to the ' _Do not fraternize with the pagans_ ' he'd often received for his attentions to La Noche, he wondered, once she revealed to him that she was being courted by an angel not unlike himself?) and _her_. He had been warned by the Candlemaker, the first friendly contact in that new world of theirs, that natives were a bit more feisty than most foreigners were used to and he had quickly seen the truth to this statement with la Noche, but La Muerte was beyond that. The fire within her eyes seemed an embodiment of her spirit.

And he couldn't place his finger on the reason, but he liked that.

From that moment on, he'd known a fairly different kind of war; one he'd begun fighting without even realizing he was doing so. His weapons were fairly different from what he was used to: Words, gambles, touches…kisses. Reaching her heart had been war. Keeping her safe from his mistakes and even some of hers had been war. Everyday with her was war. It was to be expected, with two opposing viewpoints, that living in perfect harmony would be impossible -even if she will sometimes say, in the haze of the early light of their bedroom, that balance _is_ harmony and they balance each other out.

Is at times as those when the word in Xibalba's mind shifts for an antonym: Peace. What is peace, but the moment when opposing forces keep each other too busy to affect anything else? What is peace if it's not what he feels when she kisses him, even if his heart beats harder and faster than it ever has in battle?

Loving her was war, but having her love him back was peace.

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **I think one of the reasons we love this couple so much is how realistic the tug-and-pull dinamic between them is. This fic features a bit of my view on that.**


	5. Day 8

Day 8

 **Canon!verse. Based upon fannish-codex's 'Forgotten Xibalba' concept art**

 **HANDS**

* * *

He's not coping. She knows he's taken to self-destructive tendencies since they separated. Spends too much time among the darkest passages of his realm and on his own, refuses any intent to console him. Lately, he's even gone back to gambling with his brother, for prices she's not sure he can afford to pay, for causes where humans are the ones to suffer the most.

(S _he's not sure if she expected otherwise. Xibalba_ _is childish. To a degree where she can't help but wonder whether there is actually a hint of innocence in him. But no, he is like a child in aspects where he doesn't betray purity but stubbornness, thoughtlessness, egocentric recklessness)_

Is _she_ coping? Barely.

Well, basically because keeping herself busy so she doesn't have to think about him doesn't count as coping. If anything, it's avoiding the need to cope with their separation, burying it under the imperative needs of others, living with it as one lives with a ghost.

But at night she has nowhere to escape, nothing to distract her, because sometimes she lays awake, feeling neglected and lost in the midst of an empty bed, and even when she works herself to the point of exhaustion and falls asleep immediately, her thoughts most often find their way to him again.

La Muerte dreams of touches. Casual and sensual. She dreams of a voice in the dark, a heartbeat against her ribs. The rush of the wind and her own pulse when in chase. The sound of blades singing when in spar. Of the sound of hooves and laughter. Smell of smoke and bitter tar. Taste of ash. A flap of wings and the touch of metal under her palm. Arms wrapped around her.

But it's when she dreams of a hand holding hers that she wakes up with damp eyes and feeling like she can't quite breath right.

Even so, she keeps refusing to deal with her loss in order to keep herself from coping with it.

( _The Candlemaker has a theory for that and she usually pushes it away from thought as soon as it shows up within her head. He says_ _it's because she's afraid that if sheacknowledges it, she will one day awaken and realize she doesn't miss him_ _anymore_ )

She takes the habit of bringing her hand to the necklace he gave her when she's worried, and when she's happy; when she's holding back tears, biting her lips to stop the laughter or deep in thought, and even sometimes in her sleep, she refuses to take it off and wakes up to find it clasped between white fingers like a sinner grasping it's only salvation. It's a poor substitute for him, for his hand, but it helps, specially when she's feeling weak and lonely and just forgetting and forgiving seems too good an option to pass.

( _She always, inevitably, ends up deciding against it. She's proud. She's strong. She's a Goddess and her heart is as fiery as her eyes and, for all that's sacred, he hurt her so! Why should she forgive him when all he did was feel sorry for himself and claim an innocence she couldn't believe in? Why should she be the one to take the step when he couldn't even stay faithful to her?_ )

( _But -she won't admit it even to herself- it's mostly because it hurts. Thinking of what he'd say hurts, thinking that she may never be able to see him without remembering the sight of his treason and feeling miserable hurts, thinking that she still loves him despite all of it hurts)_

La Muerte brushes it with her fingers when their daughter, so used to the Land of the Forgotten and feeling out of place in the Land of the Remembered, looks up from the guitar she's been clumsily strumming with her little, claw-like fingers -so like his- and sets her crimson eyes on her. When Gods who haven't caught wind of the matter make polite questions about her marriage. When she opens a book she left unfinished some time ago and finds a black, ashy feather pressed between it's pages in the manner others would keep roses or she sees one particular shade of green among the dance of colors that is her kingdom. Sometimes all it takes is a love song, the sight of a couple or the color of San Angel's night sky to make her retort to touching the necklace as if to frighten away bad luck and _breathe_.

It's her first reaction, along with a startled straightening of her spine when the Candlemaker irrupts into her throne room, frantic, telling her Xibalba's gone missing between gasps for breath, and as she makes her way through the darkness of his Kingdom, not daring to call for him but with her eyes wide and scanning in search for any sight of black feathers, green glows or red eyes, feeling the metal along with the violent drum of her heartbeat.

( _Sartana asked whether her daddy would be alright just before she left and she promised she'd make sure of it. Oh, she's so afraid for him, and for herself and for their child,even for Candlemaker,_ _and there is also anger somewhere in the mix because she can't help but wonder whether they matter so little to him or he is just too thick to realize what his self-destructive behavior does to all of them_ )

White, sugary fingers pause on gold when she finally feels his presence on the darkest, deepest cave in the Land of the Forgotten, where her eyes can barely make out the shapes of the rocks around her. It's then and only then that she brings herself to call, her tongue rolling the name effortlessly, as if no time has passed since she last time she's said it.

"Xibalba?"

Something stirs and glows green deep within the cave and there is a sound like the rumble of the earth before a volcanic eruption. It's him. All her senses cry for her to go to him, but at the same time pure instinct keeps her rooted in the entrance, every muscle in her body tense as if ready to leap. She gulps, her mouth suddenly dry, and tries again.

"Xibalba…it's me"

'…i _t's me…it's me…_ ' the lonely echo bounces back. With each repetition, the rumble becomes more pronounced and the thing in the dark rises and she can see it, her throat tightening in horror.

His body has twisted and hunched over, as if escaped from a feverish nightmare. There's spikes all along his spine, his wings are bristled over, as if turned into multitudes of thorns instead of feathers and his mouth has turned into the jaws of a beast. His eyes are green, glowing, empty pools, as he sets them on her. The crown on his head is rusty and broken, as well as what remains of his armor.

" _Ay, Balbi…_ " La Muerte whispers and grits her teeth to stop a sob. She has seen humans become this kind of creature, in the rare cases when they manage to survive turning into ashes by the influence of the Land of the Forgotten, everything but sadness, anger or pain erased from their minds. To her, it seems just as horrible as turning into ashes, losing everything that makes them _them_ , to the unnatural regret and emptiness that rules over the realm.

And this has happened to Xibalba.

There is no recognition in his expression as he stares at her. Just a void, mindless sadness that seems to consume any rational thought. His eyes travel from her and around -it's as if he can't even see her now and she wonders if it's because the skulls of his eyes are gone- before turning his back on her with an exhausted whine to get back to sleep.

"Xibalba" she calls. Pleads.

( _How long has she avoided even speaking his name! And now she's said it thrice in less than a minute_ _and is ready to say it a hundred times over if that will suffice to bring him back to her as she remembers him)_

He doesn't react to it. She half wishes he did, that he attacked her or even growled at her…hell, just shown he heard her, but it's as if a wall, one she hadn't foreseen or planned, had risen between them and for the first time she realizes how terrifying the thought that there is something insuperable standing between them actually is. It's that thought that pushes her forward, further into the cave, into the dry darkness. The light of her candles floods and tinges it a brighter gray and outlines his shape. The necklace is still clasped between her fingers.

"I'm not leaving without you"

He drags closer to the stone, as if wishing to sink in it to escape her light. So she crouches next to him, not allowing him the escape, and waits for something, anything, any sign that he knows she's here, that deep down inside he's still there, the father of her child, her husband, the one who was ready to die for her, the one who never hesitated to come when she called.

If she called.

"Come back" she whispers. Her eyes are dry but her voice cracks at the end of the sentence. And perhaps it's her sadness but he finally _reacts_. One eye peeks from under wings and he shifts, moving closer to her. She should be terrified, but she isn't, because something resonates between them in a way she almost recognizes. He stares for the longest time, and finally reaches out a long claw. Her hand hesitates one second longer around the necklace before reaching back for him, almost eager.

The touch of his fingers is the same she remembers, even if the limbs look different. She runs the tips of her fingers along his hand and then rests her palm against his and waits. He's frozen for one moment, confusion mixing with the sorrow in his gaze…and then his fingers curve and wrap hers in a way so dear and familiar.

La Muerte lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, not knowing whether it's a chuckle or a sob that leaves her mouth. His jaws move hesitantly. The sound is almost a growl, but she can recognize it, and see Xibalba's eyes setting on her, finally full of recognition.

"… _mi amor…_ "

"I'm here" she immediately replies. There's a shift in his shape, similar to when he used to melt to her touch and he blinks as if to focus. The glow of his eyes dims a little and the crimson skulls reemerge from it's depths, setting on her "Come back"

He stares one moment longer, before setting his eyes on their hands, or rather, his claw enveloping her tiny hand. His adam's apple wobbles up and down and he shivers, before crawling to her and hiding his face against her stomach, wrapping his arms and claws around her. She bends, hugging him back. As if instinctively, his wings envelope them both. The rusty and broken crown hits the rocky ground.

( _Well, isn't this familiar. She feels her heartbeat slow down in calming waves in a way she hasn't felt for what seem ages. He infuriates her so, but somehow his contact, the feeling of his breath against her moves her close to tears. If only she could forget what happened! If only they could go back to the way things were!_ )

By the time Candlemaker reaches them, calling both their names, and Xibalba opens his wings, he's back to normal, but exhausted, clinging to her torso like a drowning man to a plank of wood. She runs her hands over his back, caressing the base of his wings, resting her face on top of his, her _sombrero_ casting shadows over both of them. Candlemaker pauses mid-stride and watches them, relief and puzzlement washing over his features.

"Help me take him back to the castle" La Muerte whispers, straightening, brushing the back of her hand along theside of his head.

"Huh?" the Candlemaker blinks, his eyes shifting between them "Oh, yeah–!"

( _Later, when they've laid him down onto his bed and she tries to walk away, he clings to her hand desperately, almost pleadingly. When she throws him a warning glance, he apologetically comments on how he sometimes dreams of holding her hand like this and doesn't really want to wake up. Her heart flutters_ )

( _She ends up making Candlemaker go get Sartana so they can sleep over at Xibalba's castle, and also ends up bending to the girl's pleas for them to sleep in the same bed_ )

( _She dreams of a hand holding hers_ )

And when she wakes, it's still there

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **...you thought I was going to do something dirty with this, didn't you? Well, actually, I was. Buuuut, I happened to have a canned idea that could fit the prompt if tweaked a little.**


	6. Day 11

Day 11

 **hansuoddie's Caramel!AU (La Muerte gets burned instead of Xibalba)**

 **FORGIVENESS**

* * *

All in all, she's thankful for many things.

Despite her appearance, she's not fragile. The wounds that almost killed her once have healed just fine and she's adapted to the new needs of her body. The pain was horrible, but short lived; the shame was a bit harder to overcome, but she's getting there, little by little.

And she is loved. Everyday the children of the Land of the Remembered will cue in line to give her the star flowers fallen from the sky on the hills surrounding the city -she uses them to flavor jars of cold water and pours it into glasses for all to drink. The animals she so loves run to nuzzle her on sight and greet her with wagging tails, tongues licking her hands and a concert of ecstatic noises. The people sings her praises just as loud as they did before, if not more. Faces break into beams at her sight and music greets her in every home.

And Xibalba is by her side.

Well, not the way she'd like him to. While she had dreamed of an ideal union, where both would be equals and rulers, he had preferred to renounce all of his charges, all of his luxuries, and even the right to stand on the same height as her. Her servant, he calls himself…her sword and shield, her knight, her bodyguard.

She'd been confident that eventually, she would get him to bring that the wall he set between them down. In a way, it had worked. He now allowed himself a closeness with her that went beyond simple allegiance: smiles and glances, absent, somehow automatic linking of their fingers, secret kisses shared in the hallways of her castle, moonlit nights of sleeping with their limbs helplessly tangled…

There are times when she's inclined to believe he stays by her side out of pity rather than love and she can barely bear the thought. But if not, why is he adamant about keeping this wall between them? He kisses her hands and her charred shoulders and calls her ' _Muertita_ ' over and over again in a reverent whisper, but at the same time there's a shiver she can't help but blame on her twisted shape, so different from the white, glimmering one she used to have. It's as if he's constantly trying to reassure her although he's not so confident himself, as if he's devoted to compensate her for her pain. As if the high price for trying to save her, paid with half his body wasn't enough already -his abilities with the sword decreased, his wing never quite regained it's strength and the half of him touched by the fire upsets the harmony of his once handsome features. He had always been proud of his skill and his beauty and the fact that he sacrificed both of them to pull her out of the fire hurts even more than the flames did.

There are nights in which none of them sleeps and he sits on the bed, his back turned on her, plucking his wings mindlessly, not noticing the golden eyes set on him in the dark, seeing him so miserable, glimmering with tears because _it's her fault_.

* * *

"Both of you need to forgive" Candlemaker says one night, after she's poured her heart out to him in the Cave of Souls, tipsy and desperate. She throws him a puzzled glance.

"I have nothing to forgive him for" she declares. Her words are the slightest bit slurred but she doesn't think it's too bad "If anything, it should be me asking for–"

"For not having acted sooner" Candlemaker lets a small, sad smile tug at his mouth "For not protecting you…he says it should have been him"

" _No_ " she gets to her feet, staggering a little. Her eyes are shooting sparks "It was my mistake, it was only fair that _I_ paid for it! Why would he say such a thing–?"

"For starters, because he loves you" he scoffs somehow amusedly when she pins wide, surprised eyes on him "And because that's how he feels"

"I knew it…" she breathes, leaning on the table "I'm the reason he's so miserable…"

"No– you really don't get it! You're his _joy_. You're what keeps him going! That day, after he pulled you from the fire…we thought you were going to die, La Muerte…I don't think I've ever seen him more…broken. He wouldn't even let me heal his wounds until you came to. Don't you see? He blames himself for not having stopped them from hurting you! That's why he wanted nothing to do with the Celestial Court after that! That's why he gave up his birthright and position! He _blames_ himself!"

"But it wasn't his fault!" she stamps a fist against the wax, marking it "I made my choice! And I must live with the consequences!"

The Candlemaker, surprisingly, smiles at this.

"So…now you understand how he feels?" when her jaw drops in realization, he nods, almost triumphantly "Just like I said: Both of you need to forgive…to forgive yourselves"

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **Do you know that fandom where sad headcanons/theories/AUs just keep coming? That's basically the TBOL fandom. This particular AU had us weeping for at least a week, so naturally I wanted to contribute...and make us weep even more.**


	7. Day 13

Day 13

 **Saint Seiya!AU (La Muerte is the Goddess, Xibalba is a human Saint who's sworn to protect her)**

 **LIGHT AND DARK**

* * *

"Why do you hate humans so, Xibalba?"

He wasn't expecting the question, so his reaction was purely instinctive. His eyes pinned on her starlit form in a way any other time he would have found too impertinent to be permitted, all the more when he was already toeing the line by standing by her side in the balcony instead of three steps behind as was proper of a bodyguard. La Muerte's brow was knit, as if deep in thought, but she continued, not seeming to mind the look he was giving her.

"They are your kind, after all"

"I'm a Warrior God" he all but growled out, she raised both eyebrows amusedly.

"A Warrior God is someone who has reached far beyond normal potential and in reward, was invested with a God Cloth. That doesn't mean they weren't born just as human as any other"

"I don't think of myself like that" he muttered, the claws of his armor digging into the stone of the balcony's edge. If she noticed, she didn't show.

"Oh…?" she drifted off, setting her eyes on the Land of the Remembered around her castle "Then I suppose you agree with my sister and other Gods in how humans are mere clay dolls whose only business should be worshiping us"

He chuckled. Her thoughts on that matter were more than clear by now, so he knew better than to give a direct reply -a direct 'Yes'.

"I think dirt should stay in the dirt, that's all"

"And yet you are here" she smiled as if she'd been expecting that answer just to have a chance for comeback "Doesn't that make you hypocritical?"

He glared at her, then remembered he wasn't supposed to be allowed to do such a thing and averted his eyes, pushing himself off the rail to walk away.

"You walked into that one yourself" she teased, somehow reproachfully, following him back inside her study, where the candles had long since extinguished "You shouldn't call those who are like you 'Dirt' if you don't think of yourself as such"

"Who said I don't?" oh, she hadn't a response for that? Big surprise. He didn't even dare to look at her, humiliated and embarrassed that he was talking like that to his sworn Goddess "I've always known what humans _are_. Greedy, savage, impure creatures that live to hunt and hurt each other! How can you blame me for not wanting to be part of that? I was trained to be better, to always fight for the weak and for what was right. Do you know what happened?"

La Muerte didn't reply. He could barely make her out in the edge of his periphery vision and this coupled with the darkness wasn't enough to tell how she was taking his words.

"I realized humans will never know what 'Justice is' because they are selfish -and even if they _did_ figure it out someday, they will never be able to deliver it. Because they're _weak_ " he breathed, trying to eliminate the edge on his voice "And I could stand being weak no longer; so I climbed as much as I could, by any measures I could, until I was out of their filth and among Gods"

"So you think you're like a butterfly" she finally replied. Her tone was calm, but he stuttered indignantly at the allegory and this caused her to laugh. His face felt hot, was he blushing? Thanks to the Gods, she wouldn't be able to see it in the dark "Don't misunderstand me, I mean you think you are a worm that grew out wings, correct? So, in a manner, not a worm anymore"

Relief flooded him at the thought that maybe she'd finally understood his position, but she giggled again, and he heard her slap softly on the back of her chair.

" _Verás_ …butterflies are much more than that, and so are humans…and so are you"

He pursed his mouth and tried not to be too obvious about the effect her words were having on him, and finally dared to look at her again. His eyes had accustomed to the lack of light, and he could see she didn't seem upset, what was more, she didn't seem to be mocking him anymore.

"What do you mean?" he asked, doubt making its way into his mind. She took a moment to reply, and he could have sworn she took a step closer.

"Gods don't know what kind of God humanity needs anymore…because we have forgotten what love is"

He remained silent for a moment, drinking in what little light could be caught in her golden eyes, but then her words sunk in.

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

She hummed amusedly and he saw her shake her head.

" _Ay_ , Xibalba…it's very simple. Love forces mortals, human and animal alike, to transcend their own limits and, in a way, _evolve_. It is true many things about them remain alike, but many have changed as well, whereas Gods have remained the same for centuries. The natural course of life is forward, and something that stands still is just…not natural. But without love, without a heart, Gods see no reason to change."

"You're wrong" he retorted, if anything because what she was saying was starting to make sense. Were really all the other Gods that blind? Or was she who was delusional? He couldn't reconcile his despise, his disgust in human race with how she spoke of them as if they were miraculous things "You are seeing light where there is none. Humans don't know the kind of love you speak of! They don't know how to love anything without wanting to possess it anymore"

A hand ghosted it's way from the chest of his cloth to his chin, lingering on the side of his jaw. He melted into the touch, despite himself, hoping the lack of light would mask his feelings.

"That is not always a bad thing" she whispered. Oh, Gods. Just how close was she? He could feel her breath on his mouth "It isn't a crime to claim what's already yours willingly…"

His head was spinning. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought that he was closer to her than what was ever permitted and that she's a Goddess and him a human, a lowly human garbed in a shimmering cloth, blinked once, twice and then disappeared. Oh, if she could see the good in humans, did she see it in him? A soldier, a killing machine?

Did she know of his love?

"I don't think Gods are heartless" he muttered. Her body was pressed against his and her heartbeat was so strong he felt it against his own hammering heart.

"I think humans are beautiful" she whispered back.

They were still enveloped in darkness, but when she kissed him, he saw starlight.

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **Yeah...somehow, I always end up putting Saint Seiya in the fandoms I'm in and TBOL was no exception. I'd been trying to write a prompt for it all month but it wasn't until this one that it actually worked.**


	8. Days 14 and 19

Days 14 + 19

 **Canon!Verse. Based on an anon prompt requesting Xibalba's female human disguise (Never used in the movie) out in a date with Mary Beth**

 **FOOD + WINE**

* * *

Truth be told, for a moment Dan thought the curly-haired woman had been stood up.

Well, because she'd been sitting on her table for two for at least half an hour all by herself, brow furrowed and mouth stretched in a bitter line that didn't favor her features at all, giving her a somehow unpleasantly unsettling appearance, one that made him fear walking to her to refill time and time again the glass of wine on her hand. She'd thank him in a grunt but keep her eyes pinned on the entrance stubbornly, eating basket after basket of bread.

But, just as he was thinking whether it would be convenient to do the usual with stood-up clients and offer her a courtesy dessert, she straightened on the chair, her face breaking into a wide smile, and waved at someone. Dan looked at the entrance, and did a double take when he spotted someone waving back. Long flaming hair, big blue eyes, a mouth that looked like a rose…it wasn't just her appearance, something about her was just so appealing to the eye, as if the way she moved were the graceful swishing of the grass under a breeze.

"Took you long enough!" the curly-haired woman called in a low voice once the red-head was close, but was silenced at once by a quick peck over her lips that got her doe-eyed and sap-smiled in no time.

"Sorry, love, work got a bit out of hand" the red-head hurriedly said, taking her seat across the table and eyeing the wine bottle Dan had finally conceded on just leaving there "Just how much wine have you had?"

"Not enough to forget how impatient I was to see you"

" _Cursi_ " the redhead hissed, shaking her head, but her face was lit with a warm smile. Dan realized, with a start, that he should have been tending to the table instead of gaping at the scene, and promptly kicked himself into action, going to them and handing them the menu. The red-head hardly looked at it before ordering _Sopa de Tortilla_ and the curly-haired woman…well, for a brief moment he wondered whether she was just reading the entire thing out loud or if it was indeed her order.

The latter, as it turned out.

Hours later, when he went to retrieve the last of many, many plates he'd served to that table and present the bill, the red-head was leaning over the table on both elbows, her face flushed, eyes half-lidded and hands intertwined under her chin.

" _Balbiii_ , let's go home…" she whined in mock-complaint, dragging the words the slightest and hiccuping at the end of the sentence "There's too much people here for what I want to do with you…"

Dan felt his face redden and had to hold back a nervous laugh. He hadn't seen her take more than three glasses of wine and she looked fairly wasted. Her partner, however - _Balbi_ , Dan hadn't heard that name before but in a time where people called their kids things like 'Apple' hardly any name surprised him anymore- looked as sober as she'd been upon first entering the restaurant, even though she'd drunk at least two bottles on her own.

"In a minute, _mi amor_ " she called back, taking the bill and extracting a pouch from within her bra in a manner Dan had only seen done in movies and cartoons.

" 's she gonna be OK?" he asked in a whisper, more out of form than real worry because he'd seen enough through the evening to know they were much more than just aquaintances. Balbi, who'd been counting the greens within the pouch, shot him a somehow hostile glance.

"I think I can take care of my own wife, thank you"

"Balbi, don't be rude" the red-head called, shooting her a glance that made clear that tipsy as she may be she was still conscious enough. She rolled her eyes, stretching her mouth bitterly once again.

" _Fine_ … yes, thank you…" she eyed his name card briefly "Daniel, she's just a bit light-weighted when it comes to wine"

"Which is why you always chose it for our night out, you old pervert" the red-head softly chided. Balbi rolled her eyes again.

"I recall asking you if you preferred _tequila"_

"I needed the wine. It's been a long day…I could do with some stress relief as well" she said teasingly, with a smile that dripped innuendos. Both Balbi and Dan went bright red, and the latter hid his face behind the menu.

"…my dear, you're flustering the boy"

"Let's go home, Balbi…I want to show you how much I love you"

"Why can't you be like this when you're sober?" Balbi mumbled.

"I'm just a little tipsy"

"You're drunk. If you were a little tipsy I wouldn't think it twice, but you know I won't do anything when you're like this"

" _Aguafiestas_ "

" _Borracha_ "

When they left (Leaving him a rather bad tip, as Dan noticed once he reached the counter) the red-head was clinging to Balbi in a manner that made him wonder how she even stayed on her feet with all the extra-weight…the only moment her knees _did_ wobble unceremoniously was once her wife was finally able to land a sloppy kiss on her mouth. As a matter of fact, her very face seemed to soften, almost as if it were made of maleable matter rather than flesh, before she regained herself and gently pinned her away, somehow resignedly.

"You're paying for this in the morning…" was the last thing Dan heard her say.

"Hey, stop spying on couples, you little creep!" the girl behind the counter called, covering Dan's eyes jokingly. By the time she removed her hands, they were gone.

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author.**

 **I missed writting Gods being saps from other people's PoV. It's fun.**


	9. Day 18

Day 18

 **Canon!Verse. Suggestive themes.**

 **MOUTH**

* * *

"What's your favorite part of me?" he asks one time, either late at night or very, very early in the morning, while she rests her palm on his chest and just savors the fact that he's next to her.

"Hmm, needing an ego boost, are we?" La Muerte purrs. She's groggy and pleasantly exhausted and doesn't really feel like talking for the moment, but at her words he squirms somehow uncomfortably and she wants to slap herself because _of course he does_. Xibalba's still so self-conscious about the way he looks, even though there is something about him that just does it for her -probably the fact that it's _him_ \- so she hurriedly bounces the question back at him "What about you? What's your favorite part of me?"

That gets him back into his smirking mask, one of the many he wears for his insecurities.

"I couldn't possibly chose" his fingers thread on her hair absently and his eyes flash a brighter red for a moment "I love everything about you"

"Liar" she accuses, tugging teasingly on his beard, although deep down inside she's not sure she's kidding "I don't think you love how easily I am to anger"

"Hm, as long as I'm not on the receiving end of that anger…" she tugs a bit harder and he leaves the phrase hanging, settling on a deep chuckle "But you know I'm not talking about personality, my love. Though, if you'll rather have me say it…" as he speaks, one of his hands traces the curve of her waist and hip, before he bends the wing under her, coaxing her closer to him, his voice melting into a whisper "What part of my body is your favorite?"

Oh, Gods. Whether it was the question or his voice, her grogginess is gone and a long, agonic shiver runs through her. It's thrilling, but also frightening. She may be married to this man, but being so utterly vulnerable before someone is something she's never seen herself doing. Is this how he feels when she makes him beg for anything just for the pleasure of seeing him beg? She's not sure she dislikes it.

"Do you want me to guess, then?" Xibalba continues in the same tone. She purses her mouth shut and cocks an eyebrow, challenging. His palm covers the hand that feels his heartbeat and drags it oh-so-softly over his own body "Shall we play 'Hot-and-cold', my sweet?"

The thrill, the eagerness is pooling within her very fingertips almost painfully. She nods, betraying herself by drawing in a ragged breath and feels his laughter rumble.

"Well then, hot or cold?" he asks, as her palm feels the space between his ribs.

"Warm" La Muerte breathes. He smirks and directs her hand further down and she lets him until the tips of her fingers feel the edge of his hipbone "Colder" he blinks, the lightest bit disappointed, and immediately redirects it upward, slowly, maddeningly "Warmer" his hand over hers drift to his side over smooth, glowing green. She lets him get as far as the inside of his wings, extended bellow them, letting her palm smooth the blackened feathers and seeing him twitch helplessly and barely hold back a sigh at the touch before bringing herself to direct him "Colder"

This time he's sorry to redirect her ministration, abandoning the soft, black feathers for his skin again, she waits until her fingers trace over his heart again. It drums at insane speed.

' _This is what I do to him_ ' she thinks. Something hot and tingly uncoils within her.

"Getting warmer"

His breath is now just as ragged as hers, his eyes heavy-lidded, jaw half-dropped, the runes under his eyes glowing dimly. When her palm grazes his throat, she has to hold back a laugh at the way he lets out a breathy half-groan. Has she turned his little teasing game on him so easily, without even trying?

"Almost there" he drags her hand to the side of his jaw and allows her to cup it for a moment, melting into the touch, before she moves on her own and places her fingertips against his mouth for him to kiss eagerly, reverently "Hot"

It takes him a moment, to retrieve his kiss and fix wide, bewildered eyes on her hand, still mostly wrapped in his for a moment.

"What?"

"Your mouth" she mutters, shifting to lay on her side so she can cup his head with both hands "I love your mouth the most"

"W-why?" he blurts. The runes are now burning furiously, one of his eyebrows so high on his forehead it might just fall off. Then, his lips curve slyly, slowly, and he kisses the space between her fingers, running the tip of his tongue along them. She savors the touch for a moment…before he speaks and she catches the innuendo "Am I really _that_ skillful?"

She retrieves her hands and slaps him. The red skulls rattle within his eyes.

"It's nothing like that!"

"Then what?" he half-whines and then another idea pops into his head "Am I _that_ good a kisser, then?"

" _No_ " she chides, her face hot, crossing her arms and averting her eyes "…well, yes– but that's not all of it!"

"I'm lost"

"I just…" she breathes, trying to cool off, and is suddenly tempted to hide herself under the sheets and end the conversation. She's not modest, at least she doesn't think so, but somehow, having to say this out loud is more than she can bear -it's probably out of pride rather than anything else- but he bends his wings to bring her closer to him again and runs the back of his hand against her cheek, brushing stray strands of hair away.

" _Dime, Muertita_ " he says oh-so-sweetly. There isn't an ounce of sultriness in his voice and yet she almost jolts at the sound. It always takes all of her to resist him when he calls her that, but this time she doesn't even try.

"Call me that again" she all but purrs. He blinks, incredulous, for a moment, and then smiles somehow uneasily, bringing her hand to his mouth again and landing a kiss over the point of her wrist here the pulse beats closest to the skin.

" _Muertita…_ " he whispers against her.

"That's it…" she sighs. He still looks like he doesn't get one word she's saying, so she clarifies "I love your mouth the most because thanks to it I get to hear your voice"

La Muerte doesn't say anything else. How his voice is so precious to her because at a time she thought she'd never hear it again, or how his words became gold to her when she learned to tell if he was being truthful or not, or how hearing him call her sweet names could annoy her but melt her at the same time. She doesn't need to. Soon enough she's drinking on Xibalba's mouth and words aren't necessary anymore.

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **One of my fave things about this couple is how easy it is to go from hot to sweet and vice-versa. This fic was like that.**


	10. Day 20

Day 20

 **Canon!Verse**

 **FAITHFULNESS**

* * *

When the study's door opens, he half-expects it to be the Candlemaker. Which is why he doesn't look up from the chessboard, where the pieces still lay scattered where their last game was left until a well-known and equally hated voice speaks.

"She was winning"

"I don't know what you want here, but I want you gone. _Now_ " Xibalba snarls. The goblet between his fingers is already half-empty and he grabs a nearby bottle and pours himself more wine. It glimmers under the dim light like blood and his visitor sets her eyes on it before reaching for the goblet set across from his almost absently " _Don't touch that!_ "

La Noche eyes him amusedly for a moment before she cups it with both hands and lifts it, leaving a visible gap on the dust upon the table. She turns it, feeling the ornaments with the tips of her fingers, finding the swirly hearts and skeletons upon it.

"Let me guess… _hermanita's_?"

"Put. It. _Down_ " he all but snarls. His fingers are closed around the bottle so harshly he's surprised it doesn't crack under them. Her smile doesn't falter.

"Oh, am I defiling it? She does seem upset whenever I lay hands on something of hers…" she lets the phrase hang for a moment, smirking and starts bringing it to her lips "I take it she's conveniently forgotten she snatched something of mine once–"

"What do you want?!" Xibalba barks, the wine bottle flying off his hands to crash against the wall behind her. For a moment, she seems startled, but she immediately recovers her nerve, sliding next to the chair. His very mustache ruffles in fury.

" _Ay_ , _cuñadito_ " she mocks in a sing-song tone, still toying with the goblet, ignoring his clear annoyance at her intentions of taking a seat "Don't get your feathers in a bunch, I'm only joking–"

" _Don't you dare_!" he roars, the moment La Noche slides her hand over the back of the chair and starts to seat, and teleports so that he's in front of her, grabbing her by the neck roughly and pulling her away from the chair. The goblet clatters to the ground. She half-screams and grits her teeth at him, struggling to free herself and he thrusts his face in front of hers, teeth sharp, candles burning like an inferno and voice hoarse with fury, shaking her with each word "That is my wife's goblet, and her seat! Don't you dare touch them with your claws, you wench! Speak your business and then leave my castle or I shall treat you like the viper you are! Understood?!"

He releases her and she recoils, hand on her throat.

"I will ask one more time" he continues in an ominous hiss, crossing his hands behind his back to stop them from clawing at her "What do you want?!"

She glares and breaths heavily for a moment, before regaining poise.

"I– I have been thinking over the past days…" she licks her lips and seems to brace herself for a very unpleasant task "…and it is possible that I…that I overdid myself with that little prank I played on both of you"

" _What_?" his entire body racks with the need of striking her. But whatever this woman's done to him, Xibalba is no brute like his brother, so he all but holds himself in place, looking at her in angry bewilderment.

"Yes…I may have taken it too far" she hurriedly continues despite her attempt to appear nonchalant, as if fearing she'll lose his interest unless she does.

"You have to be _kidding_ me!" he scoffs, wings flapping in anger, moving away because with every word a little of his self-control slips away, his teeth are so gritted he's surprised his words even come out "You MAY have taken it too far?" he lets out a bitter laugh "Next you are going to tell me you didn't intend to ruin my marriage…"

"Oh, _please_ , Xibalba, you can't pin the blame for that one on me" she protests, crossing her arms, chasing him around the table insistently "May I refresh your memory to the fact that you weren't exactly resisting with all your might-?"

"Because I thought it was her!" he snarls, his fist contacting with the table. The chess pieces, so lovingly preserved in an eternal game, stagger and fall over the board; it's of no importance to him, he has memorized the positions after setting his eyes on them for hours on end as if taking his eyes off could kill him. His shoulders are hunched and his face is glowing with rage "…I would have never even _touched_ you otherwise"

"It might help if you stopped saying it like we actually did anything" La Noche flatly offers. Has he hurt her ego? _Good_ "We both know nothing happened"

"But she doesn't" an idea flares in his mind and he turns, the ghost of a smirk playing in his lips "Come to think of it…I don't think your husband does either"

He knows he's hit the nail in the head when she flinches angrily at the comment, eyes flaring at him, so he straightens, receiving the first semblance of comfort he's had since his wife left his castle in a spell and now it's his turn to chase her around the table as she turns her back on him and starts to walk away.

"Let me guess, he didn't take too kindly on his _Cielo_ having an affair with his brother– I know!" he teleports in front of her, cutting her escape, a mock-comprehensive expression on his face "He wouldn't even let you explain, am I right?"

"Shut up" she growls, trembling with fury, clearly not appreciating the way the control of the conversation has slipped off her hands.

"Or did he let you explain but didn't believe you all the same? I can't say I blame him. Especially when your entire marriage is based in spite and viciousness"

"Enough!" she bellows, fists shaking and tight at her sides. He drops it, if only to favor a more pressing matter.

"What were you expecting to gain by coming here and putting up that contrite act, hmm? Did you want me to clarify to him that, indeed, nothing happened?" she glowers at him silently and he laughs to her face "What makes you think he'd sooner believe my words than yours? Is the distrust between both of you that big?"

" _Mira quien habla_!" she retorts, face flushed in humiliation and anger "Your situation is not much better than mine" she breathes in, trying to regain her calm "But I could fix it! I could tell La Muerte–!"

"And what makes you think she'd listen to anything you have to say? To her eyes, you're as guilty as I am" he chuckles once more, relishing her frustrated expression, even though realization that, yes, nothing can be done for his marriage hits him like a blow in the gut "You have nothing to offer and much to lose, whereas I, thanks to you, have nothing left to lose"

"We're on the same boat, Xibalba" she tries, this time pleadingly.

"But unlike you, I didn't knowingly bring this upon myself" he hovers over her, his voice a low hiss "I thought you were my wife, and everything I did, I was doing it _to her_ " she shivers angrily "But you? You knew it was me. _Diablos_ , you _sought_ for me! Are you really pathetic enough that you held a candle for me all this time even though I made my disgust for you clear after you almost got your own sister killed? Even after you got married?"

La Noche's frozen in pure anger, flaming eyes pinned on him.

"You understand nothing!" she finally manages, her voice choked.

"No, La Noche" he tiredly spits, going back to his seat "Don't forget you and I are the same, I understand all too well. You don't care what the prize is as long as you get what you want– even if it's just a whim you're getting in exchange of something far more valuable"

She looks at him a moment longer, before furrowing her brow, turning her nose up to him.

"He can't truly believe I would be unfaithful to him" she declares. She's speaking in a tone that seems to intend to erase her past emotion, to say she's not really half as worried as she appears to be, but her worlds make her vulnerable. This is the hope she's been clinging to, Xibalba knows, it makes him want to take the opportunity to crush it, if only to see her suffer the way he's suffering.

Ah, but he's so tired.

"Ah, but that's the catch" he says, picking up his goblet once more, motioning with a finger absently so the chess pieces take their places where he and La Muerte had left them that night, without knowing that game might as well be their last. Her goblet also hovers back into place as if awaiting for her return. Xibalba takes his seat again and rests his head lazily on his hand, eyes set on them "Faithfulness is unbecoming of us"

* * *

 **C. C (a) the Author here.**

 **Still wondering WHAT exactly was that happened between Xibalba and La Noche. One of my guesses is she thought it'd be funny to pretend she was La Muerte and get all lovey-dovey with him and trashlord fell for the trick.**


	11. Day 21

Day 21

 **Universe non-specified.**

 **VICTORY**

* * *

At first she blames the frantic heartbeat in her chest to the usual excitement any sort of competition awakens in her. The wind rushes through her hair as she spins and thrusts and slashes and parries his attacks gracefully, but with effort. He doesn't look in much better form, so used to being the most skilled fighter of his group, unaccustomed to the level of concentration she requires from him as an adversary. But he seems excited as well. Is he excited? She is. It's the first time she's found someone capable of going toe to toe with her in any sort of competence…besides her sister, that is. She blocks an incoming slash just barely and takes a few steps back, eyes set on him, trying to stop herself from heaving as much as possible.

"Ready to accept defeat?" she throws at him. He pretends not to notice the droplets of salty sweat sliding over his brow and smirks. She can see him holding back from heaving as well.

"Not really…but if you want to, we can stop now"

For all answer, she points the tip of her blade at him defiantly, her heart a-flutter. He follows suit, his smirk widening, and they start over. It's been like this at least half a dozen times, when they started the sun was setting and now it's almost midnight. Ah, both are exhausted, but they're also so stubborn. The only way this will ever stop is when one of them loses.

And she's so tired.

And he's the one always saying how the end justifies the means, right?

So in one swift movement, when his body is stretched forward in a thrust, she dodges the blow and draws so close to him that she can hear his heartbeat, as frantic as hers; and sees him start, taken by surprise, his eyes widened, his jaw slacked. He smells like insence and clean sweat and the wax he uses in his beard and mustache and she takes a moment to inhale…

One movement, is all it takes after that. Before he knows what's happened he's lying on his butt in the floor, still gaping at her. She smiles, the tip of her sword pressed against his breastplate.

"I win"

And he does something she doesn't really understand. Smiles, his eyelids drooping the slightest.

"Indeed"

Her heart is still beating frantically, and she realizes: No, it's him who has won.

* * *

 **C.C (a) the Author here.**

 **Have you seen that concept art from the movie featuring these guys with swords as if on par? That's what inspired this. I would have loved to see something like that on film...**


End file.
